


the only title that matters

by tsunderestorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Ignis wakes Noctis up in the middle of the night to go on an adventure...straight to one of the deserts of Leide’s famous roadside wedding chapels.





	the only title that matters

**Author's Note:**

> A few days ago [I tweeted](https://twitter.com/tsunderestorm/status/958814898938613761) and a few people asked me to write it so...here we are. This is (very loosely) for the IgNoct week day six simple prompt: Childhood Promises.
> 
> I accidentally got my days mixed up and posted this early but it’s too late to take it back now. I am an idiot sandwich.

“Noctis,” Ignis whispers, shaking him awake. The nights are growing longer, but in the face of what he has planned the time they’re veiled in darkness seems mere minutes. “Noctis...wake up, dear heart. Let’s go on an adventure, you and I.”

It calls back memories of childhood, times when even the sleepy prince would pretend to slumber only to shake Ignis awake, eyes bright in the moonlight as he begged _let’s go on an adventure._ Ignis had always agreed; climbing out the lowest tier of the Citadel’s greenhouse windows, sneaking through the hidden passageways that had been around for centuries if for no other reason than it made his light of the night shine brighter than ever.

Exiting the caravan felt tenuous; each footstep deafening, every creak of the small camper making Ignis certain that Gladio would wake and demand to know where he was planning to take the prince. His duty as a Shield was to always stand in front of his liege: protective, powerful, but Ignis has every intention to stand _beside_ Noctis tonight and he refuses to let anyone stop them. He gives a silent apology as he slips past Gladiolus asleep with Prompto curled up in a puddle of drool on his bare chest: _I can’t share this, my partner in duty._

It’s not as if he’s doing anything wrong - of that, he is certain - but tonight is about no one but he and Noctis, about nothing but a desire for something _final_ and _real_ , something solid, a comfort in the wake of Noctis’ world crumbling to ruin around him. Something admittedly selfish, he supposes - he can’t watch the love of his life go through with a marriage he isn’t wholly dedicated to, can’t watch him lose _so much_.

Noctis slides into the passenger seat of the Regalia and presses the button to retract the roof, baring the two of them to the watchful gaze of the stars above. Curiously he watches Ignis situate himself in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt as he waits for him to buckle his belt and start the car. “So, Specs, where to?”

Ignis has twenty-thousand gil in small bills stowed away in his pants pocket, their identification cards in his shirt pocket, the love of his life beside him and his heart on his sleeve. It’s reckless, what he’s doing: utterly unheard of, surely somehow treasonous in his duties to the crown, and impulsive as all hell.

(Or perhaps, he reasons, not impulsive in the slightest - he’s been prepared to marry Noctis since he was a child.)

He’s going to _marry_ him tonight, he says to himself. It isn’t the ceremony he’s imagined more than once; official black and gleaming gold, traditional and _official_ in the grand ballroom at the Citadel, blessed by the Crystal and presided over by Noctis’ father but it will be real just the same.

Noctis leans over the console, bumping his head against Ignis’ bicep like a kitten. Impatient, attention-seeking, affectionate in his own way. “Hello, Eos to Specs? We going on an adventure or not? I mean, I don’t mind staring up at the stars all night but..you woke me up and promised an adventure.”

“Do you remember Noct...years ago, now - “ Ignis begins, sighing as he leans forward and presses his forehead to the steering wheel, feeling the Regalia insignia press indents into his skin, a cold counter to the nervous heat spreading over his body. “When I told you that if I were allowed, I would marry you?”

Noctis shifts, rests his elbow on the door and his head in his hand as he draws his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible in the bucket seat of the car. “Ig...yeah. ‘Course I remember that. You promised me one day you would. In front of the Crystal, I remember.”

Ignis breathes deeply for strength, for courage. This is something he wants, something he craves more deeply than anything but there are words like _duty_ and _treaty_ souring the words as they try to leave his lips and he wonders if Regis would be disappointed in him. 

“There is a place several kilometers down the road. A wedding chapel. It’s open 24-hours, and well, they have no sympathy for the empire or its schemes. I called ahead, and they have agreed to keep our identities a secret provided I...sweeten the deal a bit.” With that, Ignis pats his leg, fingers the shape of the thick, curled edges of the rolled-up banknotes burning a hole in his pocket.

Noctis says nothing, and Ignis continues. It is his way, he’s learned, especially when he’s only half-awake. What others mistake for apathy Ignis knows is careful consideration, what others take for disdain an air of nervousness - his Noctis might not always react, but he knows he’s hearing him, knows from the way he can see his body untense out of the corner of his eye, relax into the seat rather than sit ramrod straight.

“I’ve no ring, but I can’t stand another moment of you not being mine. I know that ‘Lucis Caelum’ is important as it is a dynastic name, your _father’s_ name, and were this a perfect world it would be ideal if I could take your name rather than mine, however given the situation it might be prudent if you became Noctis -”

“Scientia,” Noctis says softly, finally breaking his silence as Ignis pours his heart out. “Noctis Scientia.”

\--

The chapel is set back a bit from the road, surrounded by strings of bright lights and blinking signs. “Quaint,” Ignis says as he pokes at a string of lights shaped like cactuars, shaking the precariously crossed lines of lights across the would-be courtyard. 

“You don’t look like you’d set foot in a place like this, Specs,” Noctis laughs to cover up his nervousness, poking at Ignis’ (once-polished) shoes with the scuffed toe of his boot. “Looks like you’d get all...what’s that phrase you used the other day? ‘Pearl clutchy’? Just seeing it.”

“Noctis, please. I’m not _so_ prissy. I’ve been camping in a tent with you three for much of this trip and I’ve not once complained about the stink.”

Noctis swats at him playfully and Ignis takes it as a good sign: if he’s teasing like that, _smiling_ like that then he’s not having second thoughts, not suddenly wishing he was back in the caravan listening to the other two snore instead of out in the middle of the night...getting married. There are pictures lining the walls - some black and white and fading with age, some bright, digitally printed and fresh. Smiling, crying, laughing, kissing couples watching them from every frame and Ignis supposes it’s meant to be welcoming, but Noctis shies away from them as much as he shies away from anyone else.

“Awful late to be out,” the man at the counter says, rising to his feet from the bar stool when they walk in. “You must be pretty brave fellas to get past all them demons.”

“Indeed,” Ignis prefaces, then: “I called ahead.”

The man’s demeanor changes from guarded courtesy, growing warmer, his smile more genuine as he digs something up from beneath the counter. “Oh, yeah, I gotcha! Ignis, right?”

“The same,” Ignis answers, stepping forward and Noctis mourns the loss of his hand clasped in his, settling for diving into his pocket instead. “The ten thousand gil, as requested. And an additional ten thousand for your silence, and my gratitude.”

Ignis hands over their identification cards: Insomnia-issued, bearing the insignia denoting then as part of the royal household. The man looks them over, glancing from the shiny plastic surfaces to their faces and Noctis wonders if he thinks they were fake. He and Prompto had gotten caught with fake IDs, once, back in Insomnia - _gods,_ that had been a lifetime ago and the talking-to he’d gotten from both Ignis and Gladio had made him never want to try it again. He meets the guy’s gaze for just a second, pleading with him to believe them, to let them go through with this plan, these strings Ignis has pulled. To let them _get married_ even though Noctis is supposed to be dead and if he were a _good_ citizen of one of the Empire’s territories he would report the sight of him to the nearest Magitek unit and probably come away with a hefty reward.

“I’m sure you understand the need for the secrecy,” Ignis says coolly, gaze never wavering, hands flexing at his sides like he’s ready to call his daggers at a moment’s notice. Noctis supposes the staring contest is a battle of will, or something, and he wonders if the attendant knows he’s going to lose. The only other person with a will as strong as Ignis is Gladio, he knows that.

“Sure do,” the man says with a wink, handing the ID cards back to Ignis and licking his thumb to wet it before pulling a piece of paper off the stack in front of him. Dipping an antiquated pen into a pot of ink, Noctis watches him letter a pre-prepared certificate with what he guesses is their names. His penmanship is beautiful, much better than Noctis’ own and he’s transfixed watching the pen sweep across the certificate, in watching the black ink stain the paper as it forms into the soft curves and straight lines of the letters. As they watch, Ignis’ hand finds his and squeezes and reflexively, Noctis leans his head over onto Ignis’ shoulder.

They don’t speak. The moment feels delicate, like they could shatter the carefully-crafted bubble of denial they’ve built around themselves with a simple word. Ignis’ fingers say everything he needs them to: slotting into the spaces between Noctis’, fingertip rubbing the top of his hand reassuringly. Noctis is grateful for the silence, happy that the only sounds are the dull thump of music from the bar across the highway and the scratching of the officiant’s ink pen over the certificate.

When it feels like an eternity has passed and the man holds up the certificate, Noctis stares at it, taking in all there is to see from the scalloped border around the edge to the official-looking seal with the Lucian Crystal. He feels like he’s looking at a piece of history, because even if he didn’t pay _that_ much attention in school he knows that anything outside the wall has ben Niflheim-owned for decades and this prismatic seal had to have been hidden away somewhere and it feels...fated, somehow, that he and Ignis’ secret adventure in the dead of the night would result in this.

His eyes fixate on the important part: _This certifies that Noctis Lucis Caelum and Ignis Scientia were united in marriage..._ and he knows there are more words, pre-printed and recently hand-lettered alike but he can’t read them, suddenly, through the tears that spring unbidden from his eyes. Rubbing at them doesn’t stop them from flowing so he buries his face in Ignis’ shoulder, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to sneak out. Ignis turns and kisses the top of his head, murmuring soothing words, almost inaudible. 

“Cold feet?” the chapel attendant asks, and Ignis shoots him a look that he knows full well is positively _withering_. “Guess I get it, on account of how you’re ‘sposed to be marrying the Lady Lunafreya.”

Ignis sighs, opening his mouth to speak but it’s Noctis who does it first, turning his head enough so that his words are heard and saying “No. I don’t want to marry anyone just because a treaty tells me to. I’m marrying Ignis.”

Wiping his tears, Noctis took one last look at the certificate, fully official except for the officiant’s signature and swallowed every doubt he had. The worry that Luna would be upset (she wouldn’t, they’d always been more like siblings anyway). The fear that his dad would be disappointed (he wouldn’t, he’d always adored Ignis). The utter, crushing concern that the whole _world_ is watching him with shrewd, scrutizing eyes and he’s going to fuck it up like he fucks everything else up. This, he’ll do right.

“Ignis, you know I love Luna. She’s...gods, she’s great. But _you_...I don’t know, Iggy. If all this shit with the empire and the treaty and _everything_ hadn’t happened I’m pretty sure you would have asked me to marry you a while ago, right?” 

“Yes, Noct,” he answers, simple enough because even the most eloquent of responses would seem inadequate. “Yes, you’d have been mine years ago.”

“But at least,” Noctis says as he turns to the officiant and nods, “I guess we have this, right? Since you promised me so long ago.”

“We have each other,” Ignis says, leaning down to press his lips to Noctis’. “I promise you that as well.”

It is quick, easy and painless - there are no vows, no _I do’s,_ not even an _I now pronounce you_ , just “Well, that’s that! You’re married!” Ignis wants to be angry, wants to say that given the circumstances at _least_ the man could have tried to embellish it just a _bit_ but Noctis is laughing, really truly _laughing_ for the first time in days when he rises up on his tiptoes to kiss him and suddenly, nothing else matters.

\--

Years later, when Ignis is old and feeble and bone-tired from age and heartbreak, when the lingering effects of the Ring are draining his life force and stealing his senses one by one, he tenements Noctis. Remembers the way he’d tasted that night in that run-down roadside chapel, like dinner from the night before and the syrupy-sweet elixirs they’d been downing to get through the day; the way he’d smelled, like warm skin and dust from the highways they’d travelled; the way he’d sounded giggling when Ignis repeated _Noctis Scientia_ in his ear like a mantra, a promise, a _prayer_. Of all the things Noctis had been to him over the years, all the titles he’d called him: prince, charge, brother, friend, lover, king, his favorite was always the one that no one but the two of them and a stranger at a roadside wedding chapel had ever known: _husband_.

**Author's Note:**

> I am [tsunderestorm](twitter.com/tsunderestorm) on twitter if you’d like to chat. ♥


End file.
